Dewy lips

She leans in and their mouths meet. Tongues trace the corners first, then slide deeper. Lips part wet and needy. His hand finds the inside of her thigh while hers slips lower, fingers gliding over warm skin until they dip between and start to move. Each touch builds. Short strokes. Slow circles. She presses two fingers inside and his breath catches. He answers by rubbing circles over the swollen spot that makes her hips twitch. They move together, breaths sharp and urgent, never breaking contact, chasing the tight heat that gathers fast and then explodes. A low, drawn-out sound rolls from one throat into the other.